Hush (14 page)

“I wanna dress up like Haman,” she repeated. “With a rope around my neck.” She twisted my purple jump rope around her neck and began spluttering, pretending she was choking. We giggled.

Haman was an evil man. Long ago, in ancient Persia, Haman was the grand vizier to the king. He convinced the king to kill all the Jews living in Persia and hang their holy
tzaddik
, Mordechai. But the king’s queen, Esther, was a beautiful Jewish lady who pleaded on behalf of the Jews. And in a miraculous turn of events, Haman was hanged in the city square, on the very gallows he had built to kill Mordechai. Since then, that day is celebrated every year on Purim. But girls never dressed up like Haman. Until Devory’s plan.

“Does it hurt to hang?” she asked me.

“I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t hurt to hang,” she said firmly.

“How do you know?”

“ ’Cause I read about it.”

“You did?”

“Uh-huh, if you twist around the rope like this”—she stood on the bed demonstrating—“and you hang it onto something high, then it just takes a second ’cause it breaks your neck over here.” She bent her neck forward so I could see. “And then you’re dead just like that.”

I stared at her clenched fist clutching the imaginary rope.

“Ich,” I said.

She sat down on my bed. I pushed away the blanket.

“But for Haman it hurt to die,” I said. “ ’Cause he was evil.”

“Maybe,” she said, crossing her legs. “Maybe not.”

“Are you gonna have a horse?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. A cardboard horse, like Leiby had last year.” She giggled. “And I’ll wear a purple turban and a long black mustache. It’ll be fun.”

“Yes,” I said. “And let’s make each other
mishloach manos
again. Like last year. But this year let’s make it a surprise.”

We giggled excitedly.
Mishloach mano
s were holiday gifts of food that friends gave to one another on Purim, and that was the only time of the year that we could eat as much nosh as we wanted to. It was a generous day.

Devory’s father knocked on the open door and clucked his tongue.

“All chickens into bed immediately! The sun rises in only eight hours. Into bed now!”

He strode toward my bed smiling. Devory jumped off and ran giggling around the room.

“End of fun,” he said, scooping her up and dropping her, bouncing, right into her bed. He pointed a warning finger. “No kidding,” he said seriously. “No getting out of bed.”

He left the room, and there was quiet. I was drifting, in between dreams, when Devory nudged me hard.

“You know what else I am going to do on Purim?”

I muttered in response. I was tired. I wanted to sleep. Devory nudged me again.

“Come on, wake up. It’s Friday night. We don’t have school tomorrow.”

I grunted and closed my eyes. She pulled at my blanket.

“Come into my bed!” Devory whispered into my ear. “Come into my bed.”

“Leave me alone.…”

“But I can’t fall asleep, come.…”

“Don’t wanna.…”

She pushed me hard, and I opened my eyes, annoyed. “Stop it!” I protested. “I want to sleep. I’m tired!”

She stared at me, her blue eyes wide open with fear.

“Come sleep in my bed,” she pleaded.

“I can’t,” I said. “Your mother doesn’t let us. And then she’ll yell at me tomorrow.”

“I don’t care,” she said urgently. “Come into my bed.”

I was angry. “Leave me alone. I’m not getting into trouble again.…”

Devory stared at me. She stood by me for a few moments, and finally, as I was about to push her away, walked back to her bed. But the house was dark and silent and I was scared and annoyed. I hated being awake at night, and I was angry with Devory. She was lying in her bed quietly, and I could see her staring up at the ceiling.

I thought about my father. He was alone at home without me, and I wondered how he was surviving. Surela was home, as was Avrum, but I wasn’t—and I was his favorite child. That’s what he said when I spoke to him the day before on the phone, though I told him that I knew it wasn’t true because Yossi and Avrum and Sruli told me that he always told them the same thing. He laughed and said that it couldn’t be. Whenever he looked at me or even thought of me I was really his favorite child. The thought of it confused me, and I wondered how one person could have so many favorite children. I couldn’t imagine ever loving my brothers Yossi or Avrum even if I was their mother, though I wouldn’t have such a hard time loving myself. Or would I? I was giving up on the whole love thing when Shmuli walked into the room. In the dark he looked like a shadow, and for a moment I thought it was a thief. But then he moved forward and when I saw that it was him, I sighed deeply in relief.

Shmuli walked quickly across the room. When he reached Devory’s bed he stood over her, staring down at her as if he could not make up his mind. Devory lay unmoving, and I wondered how she had fallen asleep so fast and what it was that Shmuli wanted to ask her in the middle of the night. He then turned around and walked back to the door, but he never left the room. He stood there for a long time and stared into the dark space. He lifted his hand as if he was still unsure and slowly pushed the door closed. He stood still; only his fingers were moving, habitually curling his
payos
, waiting—as if listening for a sound. Then quietly, he walked back to the bed.

I wanted to call out to him in a whisper, to tell him that Devory was sleeping and he should come back tomorrow, when I saw him lift up the edge of her blanket. I wanted to tell him not to wake her up now, she had finally fallen asleep, when I saw how she jumped, as if he had touched her with fire. I wanted to tell her that it was only a dream, it was her brother Shmuli, when I saw how he sat on the mattress and pushed her head down. I wanted to ask him what he was doing, why he was pulling the blanket over them, why his breathing was so loud and heavy, why he disappeared inside with her, but something froze inside of me, and fear—the kind I had never known—rushed over my body and I dared not move. I saw the blanket, how it moved back and forth and back and forth so fast I thought they were playing tug-of-war. But then the blanket moved angrily as if someone was fighting with it from inside. I saw Shmuli’s dark head, how it bobbed up and down from beneath the covers, and I could hear him panting like my father did when he carried in the heavy grocery deliveries. Finally he stopped. His breathing slowed down, and he sat up on the bed.

Nothing moved in the darkness. I saw him pull off the blanket, and it struck me, suddenly, horribly, that he had remembered I was there. I closed my eyes and held my breath. My throat was clenched so tightly I could not feel myself breathe. I heard his footsteps. They came carefully toward me and my body turned to stone. I could hear him breathe, could see him in my thoughts standing over me, watching my still form. Then I heard him move away. He moved quickly, silently, until he reached the door and opened it slowly until it was the way it had been before. His footsteps moved down the hallway, a soft, shuffling sound, and then I could hear him no longer.

I could not open my eyelids. They weighed down heavily on my face, as if someone had glued them together. I was scared to open them, as if I would be in an evil dream of monsters and ghosts. I struggled to breathe. Forcing my hand onto my face, I pinched my eyes and pushed them open. I sat in my bed and watched Devory. She lay still. I watched her for a long time, but she did not move. Maybe she was dead! He had done something and it had killed her. I wanted to get up and run to her, but my legs lay like two boulders and I could not budge them.

Then she moved. Her small hand fell limply over the blanket and I could feel my hot, relieved breathing against the blanket I had stuffed against my mouth. We lay there in the darkness and we did not dare move again that night.

The twins woke me up in the morning. They pulled out my ponytail holder and yanked my hair hard. I shoved my face into theirs and growled, but they only ran away delighted. I stumbled out of bed, annoyed, and got dressed. Devory was reading a book on the couch downstairs. Her mother was yelling at her to please help set the table for the
Shabbos
meal, but Devory was completely ignoring her.

I helped set the table while Mrs. Goldblatt and Miriam prepared the salads in the kitchen. The twins were running around throwing their toys all over the place and the baby was crying in the bassinet. Devory was reading the book as if she were alone on an island. I sat near Devory, but she ignored me too. Mrs. Goldblatt stared at her grimly as if deciding whether or not to grab the book away. She shook her head, turned around, picked up the baby, and went upstairs.

Even after Mr. Goldblatt came home, Devory placed a book on her lap and read straight through the
Shabbos
meal. Shmuli was singing
zemiros
the entire time. He closed his eyes, looked up to the ceiling, and swayed so hard, as if he were praying, and Mrs. Goldblatt smiled proudly and said that he looks like such a
tzaddik
, a
mensch
—an honorable and decent man. There was a guest at that meal, a young man who had come from a different country for cancer treatment. Leah’la whispered to me that he was bald from the chemotherapy, and though I stared intently trying to see, he never took off his hat.

The young man sang along and then asked to give a
Shabbos
sermon. I did not understand most of it until he began talking about the community. He stared down at the plate as if hypnotized by it, and the words came out slowly, with difficulty.

“When I found out I had cancer I thought it was the end.… Besides the diagnosis itself, I come from a poor family. We didn’t have money for anything, certainly not for treatment.…” His voice cracked. “I would not be alive if not for the
chessed
in the Jewish community. They take care of everything.… Everything!
Chai
lifeline,
Bikur Cholim
,
Rofeh
, I can’t even remember all the organizations that helped me with money, food, doctors, advice.… They even pay for the car service that takes me to the hospital.…”

Mrs. Goldblatt nodded her head. I could see the tears in the corners of her eyes.

The guest looked up. His fingers played nervously with a fork, but he smiled and shook his head in wonder.

“There was not one
Shabbos
I was alone. Not one meal that I had to wonder where I would be.… They have built an empire of
chessed
—good deeds—in New York.… It is unbelievable. I heard of the charity that is given here…who hasn’t? But until you witness it, until you are in a situation where you need help, you cannot believe it. Every patient is treated like a VIP, like there is no other life that is as important.”

“Baruch Hashem,”
Mrs. Goldblatt murmured. “Blessed Hashem.” And we could almost touch the warm pride that spread over the room.

There were baked apples with cookie crumbs for dessert and then ice cream with cherry sauce.

After the meal we played outside with the neighbors. Devory was running around wildly, and we got into a fight because she didn’t want to play school with me. She wanted to play cops and robbers, but I told her she was too much trouble to catch as a robber and had too many freckles to be a cop. She said that plenty of cops had freckles, and I said that there was no such thing. A cop who had freckles was fired on the spot. All cops had to be tall and big and have unfreckled skin. At that moment, Avigdor, a six-year-old neighbor, threw marbles at us. We took after him and played catch-the-annoying-freckled-boy for the rest of the afternoon.

When Mrs. Goldblatt said that we should come in, Devory wanted to run away around the block. I told her not to. I said that we would play poxa moxa, her favorite game, inside. Poxa moxa was a game of made-up words. We each took turns coming up with new ridiculous words and the other had to guess what it meant. We then wrote all the words down and had a long, profound conversation in poxa moxa.

“Time for bed!” Mr. Goldblatt said when he stuck his head into our room later that night.

“Twadril mokri bo!”
we screamed at him.

“What?” He cocked his head. “Oh, not again!”

“Waiz wallayeo xain bryomy,”
we protested.

“All right!
Hootchka pakootchka lamootchka
now! That means—get into bed if you know what’s good for you, in space language.”

“
Jay
.” Devory threw up her hands in laughing frustration. “
Proksiani puksadowdla iyenvee.
”

“
Tway
,
tway,
” I agreed. It was the only word I remembered. It meant yes.

He moaned mockingly and slammed the door. We giggled helplessly.